Chương 4
I moved toward the hallway.
“What did Gideon tell you about Roger going to his mother’s?”
“Nothing.”
“Think carefully.”
“I am.”
“Did he mention his mother at all recently?”
Celina breathed into the phone.
“Last week.”
“What did he say?”
“That she might help him.”
“With what?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Celina.”
“I’m trying.”
Her voice rose.
“He said if things got ugly, his mom would help him get stable.”
“Stable how?”
“I don’t know.”
“You never asked?”
“I thought he meant a place to stay.”
“Anything about custody?”
“No.”
“Anything about me being dangerous, unstable, neglectful, addicted, violent, anything like that?”
There was a pause long enough that I stood again.
“What?”
“He asked me something.”
“What did he ask?”
“If you’d ever fallen asleep while watching Roger after work.”
Cold spread through my chest.
“What did you say?”
“I said probably.”
“Probably?”
“You work nights.”
“So?”
“I didn’t think—”
“No, apparently that part has been consistent.”
She started crying again.
“He asked if you ever drank after shifts.”
I stopped pacing.
“I don’t drink after shifts.”
“I told him you sometimes have wine.”
“At dinner.”
“I know.”
“Did he record you?”
“What?”
“When he asked these questions, was his phone out?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he text them?”
“No.”
My mind began assembling moments I had dismissed.
Gideon asking whether I felt exhausted.
Gideon insisting I take extra shifts because the overtime differential was too good to waste.
Gideon photographing me asleep on the couch one afternoon with Roger watching television beside me.
I had woken and teased him for taking an ugly picture.
He had said I looked cute.
Two weeks earlier he had asked why a prescription bottle was in my work bag.
It was ondansetron from a stomach virus months ago, not a sedative, but he had stared at the label longer than necessary.
“Bernice?” Celina said.
I ended the call.
Nadine found me staring at my phone.
“What?”
“I think he’s been building something.”
“Against you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
I hated her for saying it.
Only for a second, but genuinely.
“I don’t know anything yet.”
“All right.”
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’ve already decided.”
“I’ve decided you shouldn’t go home alone.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good.”
“I’m going home with the police.”
Nadine blinked.
“That is not what I expected you to say.”
“Roger’s things are there.”
“So are Gideon’s.”
“I need my laptop, documents, medication, clothes, Roger’s school things.”
“And the backpack.”
“Yes.”
The backpack mattered.
If it was packed exactly as Roger described, it established that the trip had been prepared before I arrived home.
Maybe that meant nothing legally.
Maybe it meant everything personally.
Either way, I wanted to see it before Gideon had time to unpack it and turn my son’s memory into an argument about imagination.
I called the non-emergency police number and explained that I had left the marital home with my child after discovering a domestic conflict and wanted to retrieve essential belongings without confrontation.
The dispatcher warned that officers could keep the peace but would not decide property or custody disputes.
“That’s fine.”
She told me someone would meet me near the house.
Before leaving, I changed every password I could think of.
Email.
Banking.
Cloud storage.
Phone account.
Hospital employee portal.
Then I remembered our family cell-phone plan.
Gideon was the primary account holder.
I opened the provider app and discovered my login no longer worked.
I tried again.
Same result.
“Interesting,” Nadine said.
“Don’t say interesting.”
“Fine.”
She leaned closer.
“Terrifyingly suspicious.”
“Much better.”
I checked my personal email.
A security notification from four days earlier showed a successful login from a Windows computer.
I owned a MacBook.
Gideon owned a Windows laptop.
I changed the password and signed out every active session.
Then I searched my inbox for anything from the mortgage lender.
Most statements had been routed automatically into a folder labeled HOUSE.
I had not created that folder.
Inside were notices about the home-equity draws.
They had been opened.
I had never seen them.
Nadine whispered, “He had your email.”
“He had everything.”
My phone rang from an unfamiliar number.
I almost let it go.
Something made me answer.
A woman said, “Is this Bernice Avery?”
“Yes.”
“This is Diane Avery.”
Gideon’s mother.
Her voice was tight and controlled.
“We need to talk about Roger.”
I looked at Nadine.
“Go ahead.”
Diane exhaled.
“Gideon called me this morning and said you took Roger after becoming hysterical.”
“I’m sure he did.”
“He said you may try to keep Roger from him.”
“Did he also tell you Roger was supposed to be in your blue room tonight?”
Silence.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
I walked toward the window.
“Diane?”
“He told me you agreed.”
“To what?”
“That Roger would stay with me for a few weeks.”
“When?”
“He first asked two weeks ago.”
My nails pressed into my palm.
“Why?”
“He said you were having some difficulties.”
“What difficulties?”
“He was vague.”
“And you accepted vague?”
“He’s my son.”
“And Roger is your grandson.”
“That is exactly why I’m calling you.”
Her defensiveness weakened.
“He said you were working too much and weren’t handling things well.”
“Did he say I was unsafe?”
“He implied you needed rest.”
“Did he tell you Celina was sleeping in our guest room this morning?”
Diane said nothing.
Then, very quietly, “Your sister?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, Gideon.”
It was not shock so much as weary recognition.
That bothered me more.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You said his name like you’ve said it that way before.”
Another pause.
“Bernice, there was something in his first marriage.”
I forgot for a moment how to breathe.
Gideon had told me his first marriage ended because his wife had cheated.
Diane continued before I could speak.
“He tried to make people believe Claire was an unfit mother.”
I gripped the windowsill.
May you like
“Gideon told me Claire never wanted children.”
“That was not the problem.”
